(This article originally appeared in the June, 2005 issue of the San Diego Troubadour–www.sandiegotroubadour.com)

A Vagabond Returns: The Adventures of Lee Tyler Post

by Simeon Flick

The music industry isn't what it once was: comely-yet-statuesque "heritage" artists like Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and Van Morrison - who were allowed to be themselves and who were actively encouraged to develop long-term careers - have given way to mass-marketable, disposable faces like Ryan Cabrera, John Mayer, and Ashlee Simpson. The resulting music has likewise gone from warts-and-all soulful to shiny and Ritalin-shallow, and most major label artists now seem as disposable as a toy's batteries. Pop culture's priorities - and our increasingly attention-deficient culture's needs - have undoubtedly changed. It would seem now as though contemporary artists who embody those former standards of artistic authenticity and depth so abundant in the sixties and seventies would be hard-pressed to find a place in the modern scheme of things. Lee Tyler Post, however, is proof positive that one can still emulate the old school in one's own postmodern way, that it can be built upon for the future, and that it can be conducive to positive change.

The youngest of four children, Post grew up as a shy, laconic boy in a household in Poway. He listened to soulful music that struck an internal chord and that became an oasis during his difficult formative years. Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, Van Morrison, The Doors, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, Otis Redding, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Tina Turner, Patti LaBelle, and Janis Joplin were just a few of the artists that became his spiritual guides through a tough but honest blue collar life. It wasn't until his early twenties, however, that he would be motivated to learn how to make this kind of music by and for himself.

"I was on my way to work one day and Bob Dylan's 'Knocking on Heaven's Door' came on the radio," he recalls. "That moment literally changed my life. I went out the very next day and bought a 12-string acoustic guitar and began teaching myself how to play and sing. To this day I've never taken a lesson and I've never played a single cover tune."

The music this Poway's son makes is channeled from that austere spirit of the aforementioned "golden age" of music. It's rooted in formative hardships and shaped by the way society tends to selectively reward or punish its loners. Post's sound is as much "the Boss" (Springsteen) and Van Morrison as it is Otis Redding and Al Green: blue-collar heartland grit mixed with Motor City soul.

Over time, and through unfulfilling seminal experiences singing his own words over other people's music, Post has slowly coalesced into his current, self-sufficient form.

"It didn't take long to figure out that I liked being solo as much as or more than fronting a band, so I decided to do both." Since that time he has progressively focused more energy on solo performing, booking and playing his own shows, and using the sheer power of his voice to deliver the stories and messages of his own songs. Although he disparages his guitar playing, the clever harmonic choices he makes on his jumbo acoustic guitar are a crucial ingredient of the soulful whole.

Post had spent most of his life here in San Diego until about two years ago. After ten relatively invisible years on the San Diego scene he began to wonder whether he really had been born in the wrong place and time, since his old-school musical style - and even he as a person - seemed incongruous with the general proclivities of his fellow San Diego denizens. And so it happened that in the autumn of 2003 he put his life into storage, packed up the van, rounded up his long-suffering and supportive wife Jackie, and moved to Austin, Texas.

After less than a year in Austin he returned to Nashville, where he'd spent a previous year during the late nineties, in an attempt to hone his craft and learn what he could about himself and the music industry.

"During my first stint in Nashville I found out pretty quickly that there's a lot more to singing and playing than just singing and playing," says Post. "I met and played alongside people who lived the life of a songwriter - the kind of folks who came straight from work with pipe glue still on their jeans and lyrics written on crumpled-up paper. I was also shocked at how many really good songwriters there were who had come from all across the country for the exact same reason: to find out where they stand."

"It was during my time there that I decided my approach would not be to seek fame or accolades, but that the craft or art of it would be the reward. Finally, after roughly five years of live performing, I felt like I belonged. Playing late in smoke-filled rooms, with soul sufferers at every table awaiting their chance to tell their tale, really formed a true, supportive blue-collar atmosphere for me."

Through his travels Post has learned that times are tough everywhere for solo artists who reflect the erstwhile paradigm that he lives, that the potential fans who are looking to connect with music from an artist on a deep and soulful level are now seemingly as rare as he is.

This self-professed vagabond will soon be returning to his native land for a short while to explore the heretofore uncharted regions of the West Coast, to be close to his parents, and to record a new album up at his self-constructed Poway studio, Miracle Somethings.

Post's goals are modest. He just wants to make a living with his art by touring and recording. He wouldn't mind - but isn't dead-set on - signing with a label that would give him the freedom of a long, loose tether to do things his way (no small feat!), and also to give something back to the community.

One of his main priorities is to continue funding his Marshall Saint Mission Foundation, which provides assistance for homeless, abused children and recovering addicts, and to establish a Rock the Soul Foundation, which will bring aid to cancer-stricken children and their families.

For Lee Tyler Post, not being philanthropic through his life and art is, he says, "Kind of like seeing an accident on the highway and not stopping to help. You hear that voice inside saying 'Stop! See if anyone's hurt' but most of the time you keep on driving because you have your own agenda. You ease your conscience by calling on your cell phone and reporting it. I'm the kind of guy that listens to that voice saying, 'you have to stop.'"

Perhaps one of Post's favorite quotes, from Rene Ricard's "The Radiant Child," works best to sum up his approach to the intertwining of his life and art:

"What is it about art anyway, that we give it so much importance? Art is so respected by the poor because what they do is an honest way to get out of the slums. Using one's sheer self as the medium. The money earned is proof, pure and simple, of the value of that individual, the artist. The picture a mother's son does in jail that hangs on her wall is proof that beauty is possible even in the most wretched circumstances. And this is a much different idea than the fancier notion that art is a scam or a rip off. But you could never explain to someone who uses God's gift to enslave, that you have used God's gift to be free."